


Love Duets

by WolffyLuna



Series: Ferdinand von Aegir Rarepair Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Post-War Phase, Pre-Relationship, Singing, patronage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: Dorothea recruits Ferdinand's help with the love duet for her opera about Edelgard.
Relationships: Background Byleth/Edelgard, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Series: Ferdinand von Aegir Rarepair Prompt Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594915
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Love Duets

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a tumblr prompt requested by an anonymous person.

Dorothea closed the piano lid with a firm thud. This duet was causing… trouble. She wanted to get this opera done, and soon, but fine as her voice was, she only had the one of them. And that made it difficult to tell if this duet actually sounded good, or if it was a mess of overlapping rhyme and sound and nonsense. Having the piano certainly helped—and she was quite thankful to Ferdie for providing her with one—but it wasn’t the same as another voice.

She took a sip of the tea on the desk next to her, with extra lemon and honey, to soothe her throat. Because on top of the awkwardness of trying to sing one part while imagining the other, Edelgard’s part was hell to sing. She’d st accuse the composer of being cruel—but, well, she was the composer. (Edelgard’s part constantly reaching to the very edge of the singer’s range, and then reaching further again, suited her thematically. Even if would make the lead suffer. …thought that seemed strangely fitting.)

She put the cup down, to save it, a little voice in her head telling her not to have it all at once, because when would she next have honey for her tea again—

–She paused, and picked the cup back up. She could have honey again any time she liked.

That was the nice thing about having a patron. A rich one, too, who wouldn’t question it even if she went through a jar a day, regardless of whether it was service of her singing.

(He’d maybe make a joke about it—no, Ferdie was too sincere by half to make a bee joke, even if it was staring at him right in the face.)

She took a breath, and started to sing again, sans piano, in case this time it magically worked better.

It did not.

The other nice thing about having a rich patron was that Ferdinand would likely be willing for her to hire someone to help. As the song for Edelgard’s and Byleth’s reunion, and the opener to the second act, this song had to be perfect, and if it was going to take manpower and expense to be perfect, she’d have to take it. (Even if it did feel absurdly wasteful and decadent to think thst.)

She opened the door—and almost immediately ran into him. “Ferdie? What brings you here?”

Ferdinand—her patron, her friend, and, hopefully, someone so lost without books of etiquette that he was merely having a little trouble working out how to properly court a commoner—stood next to the door, looking stunned and red faced. He rubbed the back of his neck “I meant to be going about my duties, but when I walked part the door to your studio, I—”

She clasped her hands under her chin. “You do realise I’d take ‘and I was so distracted by your melodious voice, I forgot what I was doing’ as a compliment? Though I’m not that melodious while I’m rehearsing.”

“To the contrary! Your voice is as lovely as ever, even when you are merely rehearsing.”

She smiled. “I’ll hold you to that when your ears are bleeding from hearing that song fifty times.”

“As well you should.”

“Say, Ferdie, could I ask a favour?”

“Certainly.”

“I’m having some trouble with this duet. Would you be willing to sing a part, so I can hear it properly?”

He paused, and Dorothea recognised the expression of hesitation being covered with gusto. “If it will help you complete your first masterpiece, I am more than happy to help.” He did his signature nervous hair flick. “I am your patron, after all.”

“You’re too sweet.” She walked in, and handed him the sheet music for Byleth’s part. “I’m assuming you’re not a soprano.”

“ _Au contraire_. When I was younger, I sang soprano in the church’s choir.” He paused, as the thing wrong with that statement crept up on him.

Dorothea ignored it. “You don’t think alto would be too high for you?”

He clenched his fist. “I can certainly give it my best.”

She sat at the piano, opened the lid, and started to sing. She worked to reach the notes, kept proper breath support and such like, but she did not put any special effort in, to spare her voice. She did not even try to act the part, just tried to make sure she sang the melody right.

Edelgard and Byleth were hard parts to act, anyhow. Hard to portray that eggshell of calm and restraint hiding a torrent of passion, without the eggshell or the torrent seeming fake. And in this song in particular—well, she’d leave that challenge to the people actually playing those parts on stage.

But Ferdinand tried. Alto was too high for him, but he kept reaching for each note, forcing larynx and diaphragm to glance against each note. He sang with gusto and gumption and absolutely no chance of success.

It should have sounded horrible. Any eisteddfod judge she’d met would mark this as a valiant effort, but a horrible attempt that should never be repeated. As they reached the point where their parts overlapped, in an intricate braid of ways to say ‘I love you’ without actually using those words, the harmonies broke down. Shattered into discordance, as the supporting alto strained his voice, and had to pause to cough.

It should have sounded terrible. It did. But Byleth reaching for each note, barely grazing them before falling back down, singing with equal parts desperation and fervour, as she realised how much time she had missed, how everything had slowly fallen to pieces without her there, as her voice broke under the strain—

Dorothea stopped playing before they reached the last chorus, and Ferdinand took the opportunity to have a small coughing fit.

She poured the honey-lemon tea into another cup, and hand it to him. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think you’re an alto either.”

He drank the tea in one swig, not savouring it as he usually did. “I apologise for not being more helpful.”

“No, no, you were plenty helpful. And I gave you an impossible task; that’s my fault.”

He stood up. “I wish I could spend more time here—”

“—but you’re a duke. You have things to do. I understand.”

“Thank you,” he said, as he turned and left.

Dorothea took Byleth’s part, and wrote in the margins:

_“Director’s note: make Byleth work for it.”_


End file.
